(\ "') ):--, { ; . I f' ( ) I ! 11'\ " 'it ,. "I ' \ I Jrllf j , ! (, I . }J.1 ' /) /: f l' I ì · \ . . l ,I 1 1. ' l' _ +<< , _ ---, . . . .... ""' / . i J r .. ---... \..: .oc.:. " ----.. I ':.(, 'N . . } \ " " " " \ '" I . ::-v' "-." j t-i!õ - 'J "41 =;' " r -""<: '--.. -<(r . 1f tI - l . ,;' . :r\ .. '. -- .... L- . /':2' :';.' : l l j' ". "- ' X . ' .,.."., u . " ,'::-. . cif . 10 . pertise. You may offend by dismissing them, or you may offend by embracing them. Along with other forms of identity politics, musical taste has become tense. M USICAL taste is much talked about but seldom thought about in depth. Some useful illumination arrives from the ethnomusicologist Mark Slo- bin, in his fearsomely entitled but re- markably lucid treatise "Subcultural Sounds: Micromusics of the West." Slo- bin proposes the existence of a "super- culture"-a vast, neutral mass-media wne in which a myriad "subcultures" bid for stardom, entrench themselves in op- position, or fuse. He describes just how intricately music blends into the world of the individual. For every listener, mu- sic can be, at different times, an act of solitary eccentricity, a surrender to mass spectacle, a declaration of group solidar- ity, and a cross-cultural migration (as in the passion of white suburban kids for rap). In a multicultural society, music is a way both of finding oneself and of pledging allegiance to a like-minded crowd. Not all forms of music are faring equally well, however. Western classical music, notably, has had a hard time maintaining its balance in this kaleido- scopic culture. For centuries, it com- . prised the entire superculture: it had no name; it was Music. Folk songs, dances, and religious music disappeared into its fabric. At some point during the life- time of Richard Wagner, classical mu- sic overstepped the mark and turned megalomaniacal. Precisely because it ad- vertised itself as universal, superior, and difficult, it stumbled badly in the new democratic marketplace. Jazz became the dominant form in the nineteen- thirties and forties; rather quicker on its feet, it made a vibrant alliance with Tin Pan Alley while acquiring intellectual cachet by way of bebop. Then all genres had to bow before rock and roll, with its promise of global sexual and political liberation. But this revolution soon split apart as the more creative elements of punk and alternative rock renounced commercial values. Now nothing holds the center, and subcultures run amok. A fall from grace leads inevitably to churlish squabbling. Musical conserva- tives line up to proclaim that the great traditions are in danger. They bewail the marginal popularity of Stravinsky or Thelonious Monk or Cole Porter rela- tive to the celebrity of Pearl Jam. Even the Beatles are now praised in terms re- served for beleaguered classics: "They're so much subtler and richer than what you hear today!" On the other side are the progressIves, who believe that tradi- tion must evolve, adapt, mate with sex- ier sounds. CertaIn young classical com- posers are laying down funky beats with bass clarinets and naming pieces " s d "'C'\T Sh - L " d " G " pu, .l 0 aK..espeare, an rungy. Meanwhile, fanatical separatists sound the call of stylistic purity, of "authentic- ity." There are weird parallels between devotees of early music and fans of hard- core punk, notably in the cry of "Sell- out!" which goes up when a favorite bit of esoterica unexpectedly hits the big time (those best-selling Benedictine monks, the happy punk of Green Day). It's understandable, this atmosphere of crisis that looms over such well-worn, long-cherished genres as classical music and jazz. A culture obsessed Wlth youth, novelty, and gadgetry won't easily em- brace a music that requires close lis- tenIng or historical understanding. On the other hand, the composer-trumpeter Wynton Marsalis is proving that an im- mensely sophisticated tradition can re- claim a portion of the spotlight if it dis- plays a modicum of media savvy and a friendliness toward neighboring tradi- tions Leonard Bernstein achieved the same thing for classical music with his irresistible television programs for chil- dren and adults in the fifties and sixties What dIstinguishes great advocates like Marsalis and Bernstein is a passionate belief in the particular meaning-not the general superiority-of the music they love best. Maybe the greatest danger is not that anyone tradition will die out but that the media conglomerates who manage so much of our culture will demand ever more gimmicky fusions of separate traditions. It's the curse of Wagner all over again, the oppressive dream of a Total Work of Art. Perhaps the wisest thing ever said about the business of making music in a poly- glot society came from the eighteenth- century American hymnodist William Billings: "Every composer should be his own Carver." From Billings on, the best American music has been carved out of a multitude of voices-some as inclu- sive as Duke Ellington's or Lou Harri- son's, others as aloof and eccentric as Morton Feldman's or the Velvet Under- ground's. The all-American messiness of contemporary taste is something to be savored. Don't try to make sense of it; lean forward and listen. -ALEX Ross